


Why Can't We Be Friends?

by BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby is a crotchety old man, Bunker Fic, Canon Divergence, Domestic, Episode: s08e19 Taxi Driver, Fluff, Gen, I suck at tagging, M/M, Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, Schmoop, Thanksgiving, schmoop fluff and pie, this is literally just so fucking schmoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:18:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn/pseuds/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also known as The One Where Bobby Thinks Benny Might Really Not Be All That Bad. Canon divergence around S8E19 “The Taxi Driver,” wherein Bobby doesn’t go to Heaven, Benny comes back with Sam, and the Winchesters actually get to have a happy holiday for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Can't We Be Friends?

His life was most definitely not supposed to end up like this.

That’s what Bobby’s thinking as he straightens the fork at Dean’s place at the table. His number was supposed to be up. Gone, kaput, _months_ ago. When he got that bullet through his brain, that was supposed to be it. End scene, take a bow, exit stage right.

But then, the fucking Winchesters – _idjits_ – have to drag him back from the afterlife. He knows it’s not really their fault – they were just trying to make a transaction – but the end result was, of course, Crowley popping him back into his old body as soon as they surfaced to keep his soul from ascending to the Pearly Gates. And, because keeping him from resting in peace wasn’t enough, the British bastard put him back in a wheelchair – _“just for old times’ sake, yeah?”_

He had to hand it to Benny, though, the guy took a pretty impressive swing at the demon. Caught him right in the eye, but then that Naomi-whatever bitch had to go interfering and pin them all against trees while she and Crowley had their lovers’ tiff, which had occupied her too much to rectify the situation and – _bingo_. Bobby is back to spending his days in an asscart.

Okay, so it’s not really that bad. The boys found a great home base. He’d heard about the Bunker before, but he’d seriously thought it was a myth. After the whole fiasco, though, Dean had just driven the Impala right into the garage of the huge place and told him “welcome to the Batcave.” Typical Dean.

The boys are all right, the Bunker is almost becoming homely, and it’s the first proper Thanksgiving Bobby’s had in years. He would have no complaints, except, of fucking course you have get up _stairs_ if you want to leave the joint, and he can see Benny kissing Dean in the kitchen from where he’s wheeled his chair to set the table.

“Christ,” Bobby muttered. “What the fuck, son.”

It’s not that it’s a guy. It’s really, really not. Bobby may be old, but he’s not bigoted, he’s seen it around. Rufus even had a boyfriend for a while when he knew him. He _gets_ the guy-liking thing, he _does_. And he gets it if Dean likes men sometimes, good for Dean, the idjit deserves happiness with whomsoever he pleases. It’s not like it’s going to make Bobby love him any less if the boy’s got a hankering for something other than women. Dean’s family – that’s that.

It’s the _monster_ thing. It’s the fact that for almost all of his life, Dean has been popping bullets at things that go bump in the night and right now Bobby can see him as he slides a hand down the vamp’s back and cups his ass before resuming his potato-mashing. It’s the fact that right now there is a supernatural being that could literally kill all of them if it got hungry enough and it is sleeping in Dean’s bed at night.

He and Dean used to fight about it a lot. Benny never really got involved, just a casual retort here and there, but it was always Dean returning Bobby’s cutting remarks with that angry twist to his mouth. After a month or so, he let it alone, realizing there was no winning. Benny was staying, whether he liked it or not.

That being said, there was absolutely no way he was going to like it.

He’d made that clear, but all that meant was that he got a stern talking-to from Dean that this was going to be a _pleasant_ Thanksgiving dinner. That meant no commenting on Sam’s sickness, no mention of Kevin’s family, and no fights about Benny.

Which, in short, means he and Fangsy over there have been disgustingly civil towards each other.

 

 

Garth shows up around noon, toting his special marshmallow-topped turkey-flavored Ramen noodles. Yeah, exactly, marshmallow-topped turkey-flavored Ramen noodles. He sets the huge dish of it down on the table and a whole lot of uncomfortable hugging ensues. As much as Bobby appreciates the guy, having Garth straddle his knees and attempt to wrap his arms around his shoulders was not something he really wanted or needed to experience in this lifetime.

Of course, after Bobby, Garth hugs Sam and Dean for inappropriately long amounts of time, then advances on the bloodsucker with his arms extended.

“One step closer and you’ll be looking mighty delicious, buddy.” Benny drawled at him, low. Garth put down his arms and backed away and Bobby barely managed to disguised his laugh as a cough. One thing you can give the monster - he’s got good taste. Bobby’s not saying he trusts Dean’s judgement all the time or even a large portion of the time, but Dean lets the fucking vamp press a soft kiss to his jaw when he thinks no one is looking and that has to count for something.

Dean and Benny return to the kitchen and Sam fucks off to join Kevin in the living room, attempting to find a way to get the tv to pick up the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Garth joins Bobby in setting the table, grabbing wine glasses from off the counter and setting one at each placemat.

“Wait,” Garth says urgently, pausing. Bobby’s hand hovered, butterknife still clutched in it, inches above the table. “One – two – three – four – five – six – seven – we’re missing a place for someone!”

Bobby’s eyebrows crinkled. Seven places – Dean, Sam, Benny, Kevin, Garth, Charlie, and himself. That’s all they had planned on showing up. “What’re you talking about?”

Garth turned to fiddle with something in his jacket pocket and, oh, God, he has _got_ to be fucking kidding.

“We left out MR. FIZZLES!”

“Goddamn it, ya idjit!” Bobby growled, advancing on Garth in his wheelchair.

“Aww, Bobby, Mr. Fizzles doesn’t like it when you swear like that!” Garth remarked, easily sidestepping him. “Do you Mr. Fizzles? _‘Noooo I don’t, it hurts my feelings!’_ ”

The gruff voice of Benny emerges from the kitchen. “Brother, if you do not put that goddamn sock puppet away right fucking now I will cause you grievous bodily harm.”

The blood drains from Garth’s face, and he hurriedly stuffs the sock back into his pocket. Bobby has a moment when he thinks, hey, the vamp might not be half that bad, but he squelches that thought immediately because _civil_ is one thing but _friendly_ is a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.

 

 

Charlie makes her entrance an hour later, looking festive in her oversized turkey sweater and brown leggings. She and Dean hug tightly before she turns and embraces Sam and Kevin. Even Benny wraps her up in a hug before she moves to Bobby and they settle for a handshake. Hugging is not really an activity that is enjoyable in wheelchairs.

Bobby thinks Charlie’s sweet. Kinda weird, but it’s always good to have some female energy around. Heaven knows the boys have been around way too many macho men in their lifetime, they need a bit of femininity to balance it all out. Dean looks a bit embarrassed when she starts nerding out everywhere, but, hey, Bobby’s not a moron, he’s seen his fair bit of Star Trek, and his small contributions let Dean relax and essentially lecture everyone about the engineering on the Enterprise and, y’know, it’s good. Dean missed having his first childhood, Heaven forbid he shouldn’t be able to have one now.

Bobby accidentally catches Benny’s eye as Dean and Charlie animatedly dissect the connotations of Uhura and Spock’s relationship in the new movies and how it contrasts with the original series, and the vamp fucking _smiles_ at him good-naturedly and looks so fucking happy that Bobby almost smiles back. Look at him, that bloodsucker. Honestly caring about Dean’s happiness. Dean needs people like that - he’s spent too long being the guy to make the sacrifice play.

Kevin pops in during the middle of a heated (and by heated, Bobby means frankly ridiculous) debate on Spock’s actual ability to have emotions and says he’s finally got the tv to pick up the Macy’s Parade. They all head towards the living room and crowd around the screen – Dean, Sam, Garth, Kevin, and Charlie squished on the couch, with Benny leaning over from behind and placing his big hands on Dean’s shoulders.

Of course, Bobby gets stuck at the doorway – goddamn fucking wheelchair, hadn’t the fucking Men of Letters ever thought any of them would have their legs taken out of action in the line of duty? “Balls,” he mutters softly and, as though that was a prompt, Benny just heads over and gets behind him to push him over the threshold.

This is probably about as close to a vampire as Bobby’s come without immediately stabbing it afterwards. He can fucking smell the guy, a dark, familiar musk that has been a sign of an enemy for his entire hunting career. That smell means fight, that smell means _kill_ , and Benny’s just nonchalantly wheeling him towards the couch so he can watch with the rest of them. Bobby should be having a hard time suppressing his hunter’s instinct to grab the nearest sharp object and bury it in Dracula’s chest, but he’s _not_ and, what the fucking hell, living with the damn guy’s got him going _soft_.

Benny pushes the wheelchair up beside the couch so Bobby can see. He gives him an uncertain pat on the shoulder, and what the hell’s he supposed to do with that? Eventually, just gruffly nods at Benny in thanks and turns to the screen.

They’re about ten minutes in when Dean’s phone spews out a tinny version of the first verses of Voice of America and he hops off the couch to answer it in the kitchen. Through the doorway, Bobby can hear a mumbled, “Hey, this is Dean.” And, after a pause, “Cas?”

There’s some more murmuring, then Dean walks back into the room with his hand over the speaker. “Hey guys, turn down the volume on that thing for a sec.” Kevin scrambles to the tv and twists the knob to lower the sound. They all look at Dean in anticipation as he presses a few buttons on his phone, then it’s on speaker and Cas’s voice is pouring into the room, nearly drowned out by the racket in the background on his end.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Cas says. “I’m in New York, I thought I’d give you a call. If you’re watching the parade, you might see me.”

And there he is, a blurry tan blob on top of the oversized turkey, pilgrim hat tilted absurdly on his head. He’s beaming and waving and they all almost automatically lift their hands to the screen.

“We’re waving back,” Dean whispers softly into the phone. “It’s good to see ya, Cas.”

On the tv screen, Cas’s eyebrows draw together and his smile cracks and he looks dangerously close to crying. His voice comes through to all of them, low and sad. “I know. I’m sorry I can’t come home and be there, everyone, but I have work to do. Hiding tablets, killing angels, y’know …” and goddamn it, Bobby’s getting choked up like a fucking idjit. “The Family Business.”

And there’s Dean and Sam looking all girly and teary and even Benny’s got a fond, sad sparkle to his eye, and hell’s up with that, he thought the bloodsucker and the angel despised each other.

“Stay safe, brother,” Benny says into the phone, and Cas is just smiling like there’s no tomorrow, still waving vigorously on the tv. Garth, Kevin, and Charlie chip in their good wishes, and Bobby mumbles out a gruff “happy Thanksgivin’, ya idjit,” before Dean and Sam both laugh into the phone “happy holidays, Cas.”

When they hang up, the room seems much, much quieter and, without prompting, Kevin switches off the tv. No one seems to really feel like watching now.

As they head back towards to dining room, Bobby notices the slump the Dean’s shoulder. Of course the boy’s upset, what with his best friend out running from murderous divine creatures, but it’s a goddamn _holiday_ and Bobby’s loath to let it all go to pieces like this.

Benny reaches for Dean at the same time as Bobby and, well, that’s awkward. They both pause, eyes connecting, before Benny motions at him to go ahead. Bobby sets a hand on Dean’s shoulder and pat a few times. Dean grins down at him appreciatively and returns the gesture. Then Benny pulls Dean into a brief hug and, yeah, Fangsy ain’t really as bad as he seems.

Bobby wheels his chair up to his place at the table, ready to eat. The spread that’s laid out looks de-fucking-licious, and he’s ready to dig in. But then fucking Garth grabs his hand and says “a grace, everyone!”

Okay, so Garth’s got them holding hands and is starting in on a grace (despite protests from pretty much everyone). Which means that Bobby’s got his head tilted down, mashed potatoes and gravy staring straight up at him from his plate, and one hand in Garth’s, the other in Benny’s.

Benny’s got these massive hands. Like, really absolutely _massive_ , calloused and rough, and Bobby knows those hands mean years of tough work and labor. He can admire that – his own hands are chapped like that. Hard lives demand hard hands. He and Benny have had both.

The bloodsucker holds his hand gently, like he’s unsure, but fuck that, there’s no pussyfooting around here. Bobby grips his hand and he catches Benny’s small smile. There they go. No sixteen-year-old girl shit here, they are fucking grown men and they are gonna goddamn hold fucking hands.

“Dear Dean and Sam Winchester,” Garth begins, and it’s unlike any grace Bobby’s ever heard before. “Thank you for being alive. For stopping the apocalypse, for being, if we’re going to be honest, the best damn hunters in this country. Possibly in the entire world. Thank you for inviting us into your home today to share this feast with you. Thank you for everything you do.

“Dear Charlie Bradbury – thank you for your humor. For sticking with this crazy, uncertain life, even when you were pulled in against your will. Well, no one has ever really chosen the hunting life. But you have taken it like a champ and been a very valuable asset, not only for the good of civilians, but for the good of everyone at this table as well. Thank you for your bravery.”

Glancing up, Bobby sees Charlie blinking tears away, smile stretched across her face. Garth continues.

“Dear Kevin Tran, God bless you. Let your life come with ease after your trauma, let you find happiness. You were perhaps the least prepared to be pulled into this violent life, and we apologize for the childhood it stole from you. But we thank you for your strength and resilience, for your commitment to get the job done. We thank you and hope you will find brighter days.

“Dear Benjamin Lafitte, you are a monster in every world you’ve ever known. But you are also a man and we witness your humanity with every passing day. We thank you for returning Dean to us – for protecting him in Purgatory, when you could have just as easily killed him. We thank you for your kindness. You will always be welcome to our family.”

Benny’s grip tightens, seemingly unconsciously, and, out of the corner of his eye, Bobby sees a fat water droplet plop onto the vamp’s plate. He really does have a vice grip, but Bobby just breathes deep and returns the firm hold as Garth begins again.

“Dear Bobby Singer,” and here Garth smiles wide. “Despite being the grumpiest, most crotchety dude I’ve ever met, you’ve still managed to worm your way into the hearts of everyone here.” Benny’s grip on his hand tightens further as everyone at the table bites back a chuckle. “You’ve been the father figure of the hunting network for many, many years, and you will continue to be one for many, many more. Every hunter has reverential trust in you and when you finally do bite the dust for good, you will live on in legend as the father of the boys who stopped the apocalypse.”

Oh, fuck, there are goddamn tears in his eyes. He’s blubbering like a fucking idjit and he can’t decide if he’s going to break Benny’s hand first or if the tight grip Fangs is returning will kick up a notch and crack his knucklebones in two. He’s not sure if the mutual grasping is to support each other or just both of them trying to keep the tears from spilling out.

Garth finishes with Castiel – “Dear Castiel, thank you for trying your damndest to keep us safe, even if it means you can’t be with us now. Thank you for always having good intentions and keeping humanity going. Thank you for trying your best.” – and they all mutter out “amen” when he finishes.

The conversation is slow to start, but eventually it gets going (as soon as Dean breaks the awkward chick-flick moment by farting, the goddamn idjit). They’re all careful to avoid touchy subjects – nothing mentioned about everyone they know who is dead, no old family stories. That leaves them all floundering for something, but eventually they get into discussing the Bunker and their plans for renovation. Sam wants to repaint the place, Kevin’s got all these ideas for updating the technology, and Dean’s found a clunker in the garage that he’s going to fix up. Of course, that gets them on the subject of cars and Bobby’s surprised when Benny hops right into the conversation, detailing the best way to take apart the engine to clean it.

“You know your machinery,” Bobby remarks.

Benny ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, I was the boat’s mechanic when I was out at sea. We didn’t have cars, ‘course, but there were still motors around. And I picked up odd car jobs while I was hangin’ out topside, before” he gestures vaguely. “All this.”

So they talk about cars. And they talk about Benny’s sailor days and the time he spent down in Australia (“Oh man, I’ve always wanted to go there,” Dean had said, and Benny had replied “No brother, not in my timeframe, you didn’t.”) and sailing around Latin America (“Do you speak Spanish?” had been Dean’s main question, and Benny had replied promptly “Te joda, hombre” and Sam had laughed for five minutes straight.) By the time they’ve exhausted their supply of stories, it’s time for dessert, and Dean goes to fetch the pie.

It looks gorgeous, and Bobby can’t help but be proud of Dean for his culinary talent. The pie is baked golden, with a perfectly symmetrical lattice top, granules of sugar sprinkled over it. It even stays together well as Dean cuts seven slices and puts one on everyone’s plate. The insides glisten red – strawberry-rhubarb – and when Bobby takes a bite, he almost chokes on his own saliva. Holy fuck, it’s good. It’s mind-blowing, it is possibly the best thing he has ever tasted.

“Dean,” he says, swallowing hard. “This is – this is, wow, this is amazing. This is beautiful, I mean, look at this, holy crap, boy. I never expected you to be the cooking type, but this is fucking – I don’t even know, I’m blown away. I can’t believe this, Jesus, it’s incredible.”

Dean grins and chuckles. “Thanks Bobby, but I wasn’t in charge of the pie. It was all Benny’s doing.”

When Bobby turns to Benny, the vamp’s got this look on his face halfway between sheepish and hopeful. It takes a moment for the smile to form on Bobby’s face, but he feels it tug up his lips and he doesn’t stop it.

“Good pie.”

And Benny returns the smile. “Thank you, brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving!


End file.
